


in time

by Rilaya



Series: AU [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Canon Divergence, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 09:05:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13361247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rilaya/pseuds/Rilaya
Summary: The cold harsh feeling of their foot coming down wrong on the ice-just slightly-but enough to cause them to fall for the umpteenth time is always what makes Yuuri push themselves up, and try again....Yuuri hasn't been skated competitively in just over two years, his fear and anxiety weighing him down and keeping him in the shadows, but still training. His goal is to become better, to make it to the Grand Prix and not make an embarrassment out of himself like he did in 2012. He's sure the skating world has already forgotten who he is, a washout after his sad performance before. He was almost sure himself that he would give up, but he hadn't, and despite his great fear of making the same mistakes he had previously, he's determined to change people's minds. He's determined to impress.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite of an old unfinished fic that I started about a year ago, it's going to end up being pretty different by the time I reach where I had ended last time, and it will be set in a universe where Yuuri had not gone to the Banquet after the 2012 Grand Prix. It's going to be cliche and dumb but I enjoy writing it! If you have constructive criticism please do leave it in the comments, but any and all hate will be promptly deleted. The descriptions of anxiety in this fanfiction are based on my own personal experiences, and are the way I know anxiety.

Yuuri couldn’t hold back the tears that fell from his eyes and rolled down his face as he curled into a ball behind his hotel room door. He could barely feel his hands or feet, the tingling sensation that pulsed through his limbs had made it nearly impossible for him to get his door open at all. He knows Celestino is probably looking for him, to reassure him that there’s always next year, that he hadn’t done that badly, but he knows it’s all lies. He did horribly, he wouldn’t even call what he had done skating, more like miserably fumbling on the ice in an attempt to save his reputation. A failed attempt at that. Thoughts raced through his mind, the majority of them being about how he’d never recover from such disgrace, how could he ever think he stood a chance against real ice skaters when he couldn’t ever even dream of landing a quad jump.

He lets his head fall back and hit the door, a small thump resonating in the otherwise silent room. He can’t go back out there, and there’s no way that he’s going to the banquet later. He’ll lock himself in the bathroom where Celestino can’t get to him if he has to, but all he wants to do right now is wallow in self pity and curl up on the bed. So he does exactly that, he lays down after changing, turns off his phone, and buries himself in the sheets. Celestino does come around, and it takes Yuuri laying there in complete silence, not moving, to convince him to go to the banquet alone. He feels bad, but he knows he’ll feel even worse if he tries to go and pretend like he isn’t an embarrassment to the skating community. Realistically he knows everyone will forget about it by next season, as long as he isn’t there to remind them of it.

It’s nearing two in the morning and he’s still awake, having gotten up a few times, and is now in the bathtub when he has an idea. He’s going to get better, better in a way that he usually doesn’t have the confidence to say he could do. But he ordered wine to his room and is almost done with the bottle (no glasses, he’s in a bath after all), and no stop training sounds like a wonderful idea to him. He makes a note of it to tell Celestino he’s taking a break, but only from the public, until he thinks he’s actually worthy of performing in front of people who actually mean something. It’s half of an idea, and a tipsy one, but he writes it in his phone before he falls asleep in bed holding the bottle, and in the morning Celestino works with him to make it a full one. He doesn’t know if his indefinite hiatus will become a lifetime one, but he’s promised himself that he’ll do everything he can to prevent that from happening.

Figure skating has always been his passion, and he’s scared, scared of what he’ll be without it in his life. He’ll never be Viktor, he’ll never reach such levels of fame and success, but maybe he can be Yuuri, and carve his own path out of the mess he’s made. He stares out of the plane window, still blinking sleep out of his eyes as he is overcome with a sense of calm. Something is setting itself right in him, and he couldn’t tell you what it was, just that for the rest of the plane ride he sleeps, and dreams of poodles, not nightmares of falling into the ice rink while people laugh like he had the night before.

* * *

 

VIktor is not an observant man, in fact, many people would declare that he is quite the opposite of such. That you could steal his watch off his wrist and he would never be able to tell until he got home and noticed it was missing. This is one of the most true statements that can be applied to the renowned skater. Of course, he sees his competition, and he watches them all skate, and when the young Japanese man seems to take dive after dive on the ice until Viktor thinks he sees blood on his ear, a shiver runs up his spine. Yet the young man doesn’t stop getting up, even after he touches down for the fifth time, and it’s clear he slid himself a secure spot in last place. Viktor has to admire his dedication to the piece, however ill performed it may be. And no matter how bad the piece was, Viktor watched the skater with interest. He’s not bad, Viktor can tell, he’s just not doing well.

Viktor chalks it up to nerves for the man, Yuuri, he learns when he nudges Yakov to ask him. He feels bad too, because he’d genuinely love to see how Yuuri skates without the pressure of thousands of eyes and dozens of cameras watching your every move. He seems moments of brilliance, especially when Yuuri completes the program with a downright gorgeous step sequence, and he so desperately wants more than just moments of that. Yuuri gets off of the ice so quickly Viktor didn’t know anyone could move that fast after falling so many times. He follows with his eyes, and his heart twists when he shoves on skate guards and practically flees from the room after the Kiss and Cry. _Yuuri_. Viktor tells himself to find the other man at the Banquet later, to at least congratulate him on making it to the Grand Prix, because you only do that if you’re good. It never happens on some fluke.

Except, Yuuri isn’t at the banquet. From what Viktor can gather, no one has seen him since he fled from the rink earlier. He even asked the coach, who had waved him off and just told him that Yuuri couldn’t make it, something about injuries sustained during the performance, and a rock is dropped into Viktor’s stomach. It had slipped his mind that sometimes injuries take a few hours to make themselves known, sometimes being career ending ones. He tells Celestino, in a whisper in his ear, to not give up. It’s cliche, and they both know it, but Viktor gives Celestino such earnest eyes, praying that he follows his advice. If anyone asked him why he was so intent on finding Yuuri, he wouldn’t be able to give you an answer because he honestly had no idea.

Eventually he forgets about Yuuri, though it takes a couple of months, and not being able to get anymore information about him besides the fact that he has left professional skating for the time being. It makes him sad, he never met Yuuri, but he had seen something in him, and he had wanted to see that talent and passion fully realized. He never completely forgets Yuuri, no, not even as the next Grand Prix passes and there has yet to be any news on the other. Yuuri becomes a wriggle in the back of his mind, he never understands why after 2012 his passion and drive for skating seems to be rekindles, but it could be attributed to seeing someone fail, and still get back up and give a worthy ending.

Viktor would want to be able to do that too, to remove the sense that the only thing important was the gold, and replace it with how he once felt. Like it didn't matter who was watching, it just mattered that he did what he loved. Of course, he doesn't know that Yuuri cried himself into a wine bottle, and is taking a break because of the crushing humiliation, not because of injuries from the performance. In his mind, Yuuri would be back on the ice at Worlds if he was able. Would be giving good performances if the nerves hadn't gotten to him first. 

He's sitting on his suitcase, trying to get it zipped when he looks at his laptop, and eyebrows furrowing together at the man on screen. _Who was he?_


	2. Breathe

The cold harsh feeling of their foot coming down wrong on the ice-just slightly-but enough to cause them to fall for the umpteenth time is always what makes Yuuri push themselves up, and try again. On some people, this has the opposite effect, forcing them down in anxiety and worry that they’ll never get it right. But for Yuuri, all they can think about is the sense of euphoria they feel when they finally gets it just right, it’s addicting. Not the euphoria itself, but the feeling of satisfaction that washes over them when it happens again and again until a correct landing, spin, what so have you, is natural.

* * *

 

_ Breathe in, Breathe out, pause, repeat _

* * *

 

Yuuri has their head between their knees, they haven’t moved in nearly five minutes, though it may be more, they’ve lost track (somewhere around 267 seconds). Their ear buds are in, though barely noticeable to them now, having been wearing them since they got into the car. They know they may be scaring some of the other people in the waiting lounge, or at least making them concerned for their well being, but nothing in them can make them care. It’s been two years since they last competed at such a high stakes level, two years since they disappeared from the professional skating world entirely. For the first few months people thought they’d be coming back for the next season, but no. They had decided, after their huge flub at the Grand Prix in 2012, they’d be taking an indefinite hiatus. The entire purpose was to become better, to be truly worthy of skating at the Grand Prix. To skate, in a way that needed all of their focus, time, and energy. 

So they threw themselves into training, on and off the ice. He was still going to school, in his third year now, his major in classical music, and when he ached too much where he couldn’t make it to the rink, he played. The last two years have been spent working on all facets of themselves. His confidence is still shaky, still not sure if he’s ready for this, competing at the Cup of China after doing the required preliminary competitions. He doesn’t count those. There aren’t as many camera’s, never as many people watching, not as much of the astounding pressure that always accompanied official Grand Prix qualifying rounds. His mind falls back to all the times he couldn’t be practicing, and he’s mentally beating himself up for not pushing himself to do so. He tries to slow his mind down, that won’t make any sort of difference now.  

Yuuri startles slightly when he feels a hand gently rest on his shoulder, thinking that it’s another competitor for a split second, but he realizes it’s Celestino quickly. They had a plan to try and keep him as calm as possible on his way to the ice. He’s on anxiety medication, yes, but that didn’t completely dissolve the knot of worry and fear that had tied itself in his gut. He takes one last deep breath before he slides off his glasses and hands them to the older man. He can do this, he’s been preparing for this moment for all of two years now. He stands, eyes closed, and rolls his neck, a last ditch effort to rid himself of the nerves. It only works a bit before he’s keeping his eyes trained on the ground and following his coach in the direction of the rink.

When they finally reach the rink he does a few simple stretches before he’s unplugging his ears and slipping off his skate guards. He’s getting called to the ice, and their timing was perfect, which means he won’t have to deal with anything stressful like people, until he’s off the ice. He knows everyone’s eyes are on him, it’s only natural after all, he’s the only one that’s gliding across the ice and towards the center. He still isn’t sure about the routine they planned out, he wants to add something more difficult at the end, but Celestino had told him not to, that he didn’t have the stamina for it. He tilted his head back and took a deep breath,  _ we’ll see _ , he thought as he waited. 

* * *

 

Viktor Nikiforov, current top contender to win this year’s Grand Prix (again), is struggling to get his suitcase fully zipped up when he glances up to watch some of the Cup of China on his laptop. He knows that Chris has just skated, a few minutes prior, so the last person is due on the ice. He gives up on his suitcase, telling himself he’ll try to get it zipped after he gets to watch the last skater. He doesn’t even know who it is, didn’t bother to find out who all the people in other qualifiers besides his own were. He knows that Chris is holding the top spot, and it’s unlikely whoever this last skater is will knock him down, but it may still be an enjoyable performance. 

“And representing Japan is Katsuki Yuuri, age twenty one; he will be skating to a segment of ‘The Moribund Tree and the Toad’. This is Katsuki’s return from hiatus of two years away from competition. Let’s see how that time off did him.”

Viktor can’t bring himself to pull his eyes from the screen, and feels himself leaning in to try and get closer to it. The man seems like he’s in a daze as he stands there, preparing himself to begin the performance. He’s dressed in a shining red top, cut down the center to reveal a color close to green but something akin to yellow with pink flowers dotted across it a small collar folded over, resembling a jacket. His bottoms are a darker shade of red, not shiny, and if Viktor was there in person, he’s sure the pants wouldn’t seem quite as close to black as they do on the screen. He doesn’t get the outfit, it looks wonderful, but when the music starts to play and the ominous sound of instruments climbs up his earbuds he raises an eyebrow. 

The camera zooms in on Yuuri’s face, and Viktor sees that his hair looks even fluffier up close, fluttering around his face and curling just slightly around his cheeks. He’s more handsome than Viktor had realized, by tenfold. Viktor watches, mesmerized by the man-Yuuri-on the screen. Yuuri is giving a performance even in his face as he opens his eyes, full of emotion and moves into a spin, followed by a spread eagle. The music doesn’t get any more cheerful, if anything it gets more solemn as time passes, there’s a shift yes, but Viktor still doesn’t understand it. He does understand however, that he feels something, this performance is making him  _ feel _ . The music gets louder and Yuuri goes into a triple lutz, followed by a double toe loop, and finishes the combo with a single axel. His skate meets the ice just as the music comes to an abrupt end, before coming back full force, a step sequence that Viktor can only describe as genius following it. ‘ _ No _ ,’ Viktor’s mind supplies, ‘ _ The music is following him, bending to the way he moves and spins across the ice, conducting it with his body. _ ’ His breath catches when he sees Yuuri gearing up for another jump, when there’s already been at least five he’s counted, and more that he may have missed. He stops breathing for real when Yuuri pushes himself into a triple salchow-and lands it. Viktor doesn’t realize that his hand is on the screen until the music comes to a full and final stop and Yuuri is skating off the ice.

Magnificent. Where had he come from? And why did he take two years off? There’s something strangely familiar about the other man, but he can’t figure out what it is. What surprises Viktor most, however, is that Yuuri is plugging his ears and walking away in silence, leaving the reporters to who he assumes is Yuuri’s coach. 

* * *

 

There’s a saying that has always resonated with Yuuri, ‘You are your own worst enemy.’ He hears the loud cheers through the ear buds, they aren’t completely sound-proofing, and he can feel his nerves start to tingle and inhales sharply. His anxiety will be the death of him, but he knows that this is far better than the state he was in two years ago after his first skate in the competition. He’s thankful for the fact that he can’t hear what the announcers say, he knows if he did, he would run through it dozens of time trying to pick apart how much they hated him. He couldn’t do that to himself. Celestino hands him his blade guards and helps him get to the Kiss and Cry, handling the reporters himself, and he can guess they’re assaulting him of questions of what the last two years consisted of, why return now, and all the things that were in the same vein.

Yuuri sits down, and slides his glasses on, blowing some of the hair off of his face so he can actually see his score when it gets shown. This is one part he could never ignore, the scores. They meant too much, they allowed him to be critical of himself silently, let him analyze where he can try and get more points next time, but not be as harsh on himself if he knew the comments attached. He thinks he did about an 80 or 82, it’s his own personal score of how he did, and when the true score flashes on the screen his eyes widen and he doesn’t react for a solid 3 seconds. 

**_96.7_ **

It’s the best he’s ever done in this part, and a shocked smile breaks out across his face as he gets pulled into a hug by Celestino. He can feel his hands shaking some, but not from nervousness like usual, but out of excitement and shock. There’s anxiety biting at the corners of it, but he’s too happy right now, too in shock, to be able to focus on that. He itches to call Minako and Phichit, to express how he feels in full to both of them, and he knows they have to be watching, they both promised. He lets himself grin, squeezing Celestino back, his eyes welling up with tears, the emotions in him rising up and wanting a way out.

He’s holding first place, something he never expected he’d be able to do, but he’s only .9 ahead of Chris, so he can easily lose it in the next day. Still, anywhere on the podium he’d be beyond happy with. He’ll be going last again tomorrow, and it dampens some of his happy mood to know he’ll be the last thing anyone watches here for this qualifier, it also means he has garnered attention from the other skaters. He can feel their eyes as Celestino gives him the okay to go back to the lounge to gather his things so they can prepare to head back to the hotel. He keeps his head down, but gives a smile to the reporters and a quick apology as he passes them. He’s going to go to the hotel and relax, maybe skype Phichit and Minako if they can. He’s going to keep calm. 

* * *

 

Yuuri doesn’t end up getting gold, and though he isn’t surprised, there’s a feeling deep in his gut, a flicker of hunger. He ends up getting silver, and he’s happy with that. But he wants the gold in his hands, around his neck, as his. He’s not bitter over it by any means; Christophe did an absolutely amazing free skate and deserved to win the gold, his piece was both entertaining and eye catching. But in that moment as he stands on the podium, he vows that he’s aiming for gold at the  Trophée de France.  As he poses with a small smile on his face and the Japanese flag in his hands, he tries to not get distracted but it’s difficult. His mind flutters off, thinking about his free skate. It was okay, but he has yet to pinpoint the exact emotion he wishes to convey as he performs it, and he made hesitations he shouldn’t have because of that. Yuuri is almost positive that these hesitations, minor slip ups, are exactly what cost him the gold and caused him to fall to second. He’s still distracted through the photos, his mind laddled down by it’s thoughts of how to improve the free skate. Despite his distracted state, he makes sure to give everyone a soft smile, and show his gratitude at being able to compete through them. 

It’s when he’s making his way to the locker room he spots Christophe. The other man is talking to someone, who is covered from view by his body, but it’s clearly someone Christophe is actually close with, based on the relaxed state he seems to be in. Not as in his peacocking state as he often can be when trying to impress someone. Yuuri shakes his head, he’d been trying to get out of the habit of body reading those around him, but some habits die hard. He gently nibbles on his bottom lip, contemplating going over to congratulate him, as he had been meaning to, but kept get pulled away when he attempted. He’s about to just decide not to interrupt and walk away when the person he’s talking to, a slightly shorter brunet man, as Yuuri can see when he leaves to go somewhere, giving Yuuri an opening. He walks over quietly, tapping Christophe on the shoulder to get his attention.

“Yes?” Christophe asks, his tone shifting from his usual to that mixed with confusion, his eyes widening a fraction when he sees it’s Yuuri who tapped him.

Yuuri bows his head to give respect to Christophe, feeling the metal around his neck shift. “Congratulations on the win,” Yuuri says, and if his voice wasn’t completely sincere, Christophe would think he was only saying this for show. “Your free skate was exquisite, I am very glad I had the honor to see you skate in person, and hope to do so again soon,” He compliments, and there’s no bitterness in his voice. Just sincerity and humbleness, he isn’t mocking, or trying to goad him into promises of beating each other at the Grand Prix like some other skaters have attempted. Christophe had originally thought that Yuuri was arrogant, with the way he refused interviews and anything to do with talking to others, but now, now he’s not so sure.

“Oh-uh thank you, your short program was unlike anything I had ever seen before or expected from you,” Christophe says in return, and continues, “It was truly something special,” He says, a grin on his face. The sombre tone of the piece had shocked him, and the way that Yuuri skated was… unexpected. It was enrapturing despite it’s tone. The entirety of it, he couldn’t look away, he remembers the announcer saying something similar. He leans in just so, in an attempt to flirt he places a hand on Yuuri’s shoulder, and let’s his smile turn to something less innocent.

“Thank you, but I need to get to my hotel now, have an enjoyable evening,” Yuuri mumbles, swiftly pulling his shoulder from Christophe’s grasp, not in an unkind manner though.

“Hope to see you at the Grand Prix.” Christophe says with a wink as he walks away.

He has got to call Viktor. 

* * *

 

Viktor didn’t expect his sleep to be skewed by a call from Christophe in the middle of the night but when it came to the excitable Swed anything was likely. He assumes it’s about the free skate and final scores, so he answers, otherwise he’d have let it go to voicemail, body and mind worn tired by the days practice. 

“You would not believe what just happened,” is the first thing out of Chris’s mouth the second Viktor answers the phone. He sits up some, fully, instead of just resting on his elbow as he had been previously. 

“What would I not believe?” He asks, a small tired laugh escaping his lips, it is three am where he is, he can’t help it.

Christophe pauses, and Viktor wants to whine in his ear to get him to hurry on with whatever he has to say, that it’s mean to leave someone on the edge of their seat for so long. “There is this newcomer, and I just have to say,” Chris does another dramatic pause, and Viktor is nearing a point where he wants to rip his own hair out, “I don’t know what to make of him,” Chris admits, frustrated, but clearly intrigued by this person. 

Viktor raises an eyebrow, then remembers Chris isn’t with him, and he needs to voice his question aloud, “What do you mean?” he hears a huff from the other end of the line. 

“Well, his name is Yuuri, not exactly a newcomer, he’s 21, and he used to be a pretty big name a few years ago. Not much I remember off the top of my head though, like at all. But, he didn’t talk to anyone yesterday, or today, I don’t even think he  _ looked _ at anyone. He even wore earplugs.” Chris says, as if he’s describing an incredibly difficult puzzle and just realized pieces are missing. “I thought he was just one of those stuck up skaters at first, you know the uppity up type.” Chris says, and Viktor can just tell he’s flailing an arm around, maybe even fake fainting. Or hanging on Jeremy, one of the two. 

“What changed your-” He cuts himself off with a yawn, “-mind?” Viktor finishes asking.

“He actually talked to me, he actually seemed, kind of shy?” Christophe says and lets out a deep sigh. Viktor wants to know more, about exactly what was said, but it’s the middle of the night, and he can feel his focus slipping from his hands the longer he tries to listen.

“I’m sure you’re just overthinking it, but we can talk more later, I’ll call you!” He promises, and blows a kiss into the phone, “Celebrate your gold my friend, you earned it.” 

They hang up a minute later, and Viktor doesn’t fall asleep immediately. He spends a few minutes thinking Yuuri, his mind recalling the other’s short program, not all of it, he’d only seen it twice. It still have him a feeling, curled around his gut, a feeling he couldn’t begin to try and place. He thought he was getting close, maybe about to make the briefest of caresses across relaxation, but he drifts off into a deep sleep and he does so.

* * *

 

Viktor Nikiforov wins gold in Skate America to absolutely no one’s surprise or shock. There’s not much doubt in anyone’s mind that he’s going to the Grand Prix, the only thing that’d be able to stop him is a massive injury, and while it’s a concern, it isn’t at the forefront of anyone’s mind. He goes through the motions, he kisses his metal, and smiles through all of the interviews. A reporter comes up to him, she’s French, and very clearly a fan. He pauses what he’s saying to Georgi and gives the other man an apologetic smile, as he turns and gives a blinding one to the woman. 

“Mr. Nikiforov, could I have a moment of your time?” She asks, her eyes shining in excitement, she looks young, there’s a very good chance she’s new to all of this.

“Of course,” He tells her, flipping his hair in method number two.

“You’re assigned for the Trophee de France for next month, and I just have to ask,” She says, and tilts her head some, “How do you feel competing against the recently re-emerged Katsuki Yuuri? He won the silver at the Cup of China last week, and they’re saying he may be a force to be reckoned with.” She explains, and he didn’t know all that much. He knew that Yuuri would get some attention, you don’t just appear out of thin air after everyone thinks you’ve given up, grab Silver, and remain unnoticed. 

“I was unaware that we would be competing against each other in the next qualifier. But, I am anticipating something great based off of what I saw in China. I’ve heard some good things about him from Christophe, I hope he lives up to the expectation.” Viktor says, and tries to hide his glee that he very well may be able to see Yuuri, in person. 

He doesn’t pay much attention to the rest of the interview, it being similar to the rest he had already given earlier, directly after he received his metal. He never got around to viewing Yuuri’s free skate, too busy with his own preparations for competition, and now he wants to wait to see it in person for the first time. He also wants to know more about Yuuri, and see if they’ve crossed paths sometime, because both the name and the man are so familiar Viktor feels like he’s doing himself a disservice by not remembering if they have or not.

That thought is what results in his sitting in his hotel room, his hair pulled up in a messy bun, as he scours the web for information he can find on Yuuri. He finds his profile on the official website, which leads him to a clip, a clip that happens to be from the Grand Prix of 2012. Viktor’s eyes widen as he watches, memories resurfacing, of watching this exact performance when it had happened. He can’t believe he forget, okay well. He can. But, to his credit, Yuuri skated so differently at the Cup of China who could blame him, and his hair was styled differently. 

Still, Viktor watched any clips he could after that, even though he had already watched many of them years ago. Once again he was captivated by Yuuri, the improvement in his technique was something that Viktor watched over and over, and he wished he could see the gradual improvement. But no videos in the two year absence had been released, the last being the Grand Prix, and the most recent being his free skate from the Cup of China, which Viktor resisted watching. 

From what he’s seeing Yuuri has made such drastic improvements in the time he was off, and he’s even increased how well he expresses himself through the skating itself. Which he already was skilled in before. Viktor flips over onto his back and stares at the ceiling with a grin. He feels almost giddy at the prospect of finally meeting Yuuri, of being able to see him skate how Viktor felt he could before. Yuuri had come out of left field this season, and just like that, the spark in Viktor started to grow a little more again. 


End file.
